


The Devil You Don't Know

by niniblack



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Glee
Genre: Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniblack/pseuds/niniblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt makes mistakes when he's drunk. This one <i>might</i> actually kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil You Don't Know

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for one sentence prompts [over here](http://niniblack.livejournal.com/101296.html). [**casatthedisco**](http://casatthedisco.livejournal.com/) prompted _Kurt/Spike, basement_. This happened. Thanks to [**pyroclastic**](http://pyroclastic.livejournal.com/) for looking over this for me. Title comes from "The Devil You Know (God is a Man)" by Face to Face.

“Where are we going?” Kurt asked. He was dragging his feet and looking around, but not really protesting the grip on his wrist that was dragging him further away from the lights and noise of the club.

“Somewhere quiet, love. You said the music was too loud for us to talk, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Kurt nodded. He regretted it instantly as his head swam and stumbled to a stop, nearly falling forward when the man kept pulling on his wrist. He clutched his head with his free hand, groaning.

“Alright there?” the man asked.

“I am _so_ dizzy,” Kurt said, looking up at him with a wide smile.

“That’s because you’re drunk off your arse.”

Kurt stepped forward until he was chest-to-chest to with the man, looking straight into his eyes. “Your accent is really hot.”

The man smirked, then let go of Kurt’s wrist to reach up and grab the back of his head with both hands, crushing their mouths together. Kurt was gasping for breath when the man finally let go and stumbled back a step.

The smile that the man turned on him as he reached for Kurt’s wrist again was all teeth. “Let’s go.” He didn’t wait for a response before he started pulling Kurt along behind him again.

The man led him to a warehouse. It wasn’t until the door had banged shut behind them that Kurt realized he had no idea what direction they’d been heading in or even how far away from the club they’d gotten. “You live here?” he asked.

“Yeah, home sweet home,” the man muttered, pulling Kurt down a set of stairs. Kurt stumbled and fell down the last couple steps when the man let go of him abruptly. The room was dimly lit and mostly empty, but it did look like someone lived here. The world wasn’t spinning every time Kurt turned his head anymore, but that just made him realize he couldn’t remember the man’s name.

“Hey,” Kurt reached out, snagging a fistful of the man’s leather jacket. “What was your name again?”

The man looked annoyed and Kurt smiled back at him. “Spike. I told you that already.”

Kurt nodded. “I know. I’m just _really_ drunk,” he said seriously.

“I hope you aren’t always this dim.”

“No, I’m really—“

Spike cut Kurt off with another rough kiss, pushing him backwards until his back hit the wall. He gasped a bit when Spike sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and _bit_. There was a tangy taste in Kurt’s mouth now but Spike just kept sucking on his lip and Kurt tangled his hands in his short hair. When Spike pulled back, his grin was something that Kurt would probably have had the sense to be frightened of if he hadn’t done three too many shots of tequila. Kurt just tried to catch his breath, tongue darting out to lick his split lip.

Spike didn’t say anything, just kissed him again and began walking him towards a bed in the corner of the room. Kurt responded sloppily, too many teeth and too much tongue, shoving his hands inside Spike’s jacket to encourage him to take it off. Spike’s jacket and Kurt’s shirt were left behind on the floor.

Kurt ran his fingers over a scar above Spike’s eye. “How’d you get this?” he asked, distracted for a moment from Spike undoing his belt.

“Boxer Rebellion,” Spike said, finally getting Kurt’s pants undone and shoving them to his knees. Or trying to, at any rate. “How did you even get these on?”

Kurt smirked, “Talent,” as he reached down to wiggle out of the rest of the clothes.

***

Kurt woke up to the feeling of being watched. Spike was leaning back against the headboard, staring down at him intently. Kurt reached up to smooth his hair down.

“Morning,” Spike said.

Kurt smiled a bit. The room was still rather dark, but he was actually grateful for that because his head was _killing_ him. He sat up, looking around for his pants. When he stood up to go get them off the floor—he’d been drunk enough to throw his clothes on the _floor_ —Spike reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Where are you going?”

“I’m getting dressed and going home,” Kurt said. The hook up was now in the awkward morning after territory he hated; the quicker he got out, the better.

“Stay.” Spike pulled him back down onto the bed.

“No thanks,” Kurt told him, trying to disentangle himself from Spike and the sheets and get back to his feet. “No offense, but my head’s killing me and I’d rather just go home and sleep all day. In my own bed.”

He’d managed to get his jeans and shirt on and was looking for his shoes when Spike grabbed his shoulders, turning Kurt around to face him.

“What?” Kurt asked.

Spike didn’t say anything, just shoved him up against the nearest wall and kissed him. Kurt tilted his head back as Spike trailed open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and down his throat. One of Spike’s hands was in his hair, tipping his head the side. Kurt closed his eyes and groaned as Spike started sucking on his pulse point. Maybe he’d just stay for another hour…

His eyes flew open when Spike bit down. “Ah…” Kurt tried to tell him to stop, but the only thing he could hear was the rushing of his own pulse in his ears and it _hurt_. Kurt flailed a bit, pounding his fists against Spike’s shoulders and kicking at his legs. Spike didn’t seem to notice, just kept _sucking_. Kurt could feel blood trickling down his neck, making his shirt damp. It felt like his strength went with it; he could barely raise his arms.

Spike finally pulled back, his lips and teeth stained red, but Kurt’s bleary focus was on his eyes. His forehead was a mass of ugly wrinkles, deep shadows over eyes that had turned yellow. Kurt tried to move when he finally let go of his hair, but he was still pinned between Spike’s body and the wall.

“Shh, love,” Spike murmured, wiping tears away from Kurt’s cheek. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. “You want to stay this pretty forever, don’t you?”

Kurt just watched as Spike raised his own wrist to his mouth and bit down before pushing his wrist against Kurt’s mouth. Kurt gagged at the thick blood flowing into his mouth, trying to spit it back out.

“Drink,” Spike said, pushing his wrist more firmly against Kurt’s mouth. Kurt finally did.  



End file.
